Poetry Friday

Yesterday I was writing about poppies, and while this poem isn't about my big red poppies waving in the breeze (this one is but it doesn't quite have the mood I wanted), it does combine two of my favourite things: the beach and flowers. We're all in a summer mood today, as the garden blooms and the weather warms and school wanes.

Sea Poppies
H.D.

Amber husk
fluted with gold,
fruit on the sand
marked with a rich grain,

treasure
spilled near the shrub-pines
to bleach on the boulders:

your stalk has caught root
among wet pebbles
and drift flung by the sea
and grated shells
and split conch-shells.

Beautiful, wide-spread,
fire upon leaf,
what meadow yields
so fragrant a leaf
as your bright leaf?

And, seeing as I'm on a beach jag, here is another equally evocative poem, albeit slightly more formal.

The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The tide rises,
the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Poetry Friday is hosted today over at Wild Rose Reader. Hop on over and read what everyone else is up to. And enjoy the waves lapping at your heels.

You Want To Bet on That?

The poppies are starting to burst all over the garden this week, and each morning we find their furry husks scattered about under the clumps, a somewhat crumpled red poppy waving where a pod was the day before. It's like watching a butterfly come out of its chrysalis - its wings all wet and crinkly and soft. The kids have tried a couple of times to fit the petals back into just a part of the husk, to no avail. The hull of the poppy pod has to be one of the most tactile things around. It's soft and bristley and just begs to be stroked.

Max and I, in a fit of End of the Year-itis, have started betting on which pods will burst next. We have three varieties to choose from: the standard red Oriental, another Oriental called "Princess Victoria Louise," and some Shirley poppies scattered about here and there. The red Orientals are the first so far, but we're really anticipating the Princess Victoria Louises because they have these weirdly elongated layered pods, which are slowly separating like the sides of an articulated bus as it turns a corner. You can see the pale sides coming more into view each day. We almost pulled one apart today, just because, but then came to our senses and left it to come apart without any interference. It's a delightful torture, this waiting around. We're loiterers in the garden, idly betting, hands in our pockets, coins at the ready. Flaneurs. (someone stop me before I start quoting Baudelaire)

Ever glad to be a part of something exciting, the twins are keeping track for us ("Mum! Max! Another poppy in the side border! MUM! MAX!"). They dash onto the deck every morning and gaze about, each hoping to be the first to spot the new one. It's a charming way to start the summer season.

I finally found out what this was

Now I ask you, can YOU identify this plant? Special consideration given to out of town guests...

Updated: It's a member of the Lamiaceae family. Mint family. And, it's from Down Under. The leaves are about 1cm long, and the flowers about 2cm long.

How FDPG Spends Her Time of Late

Tea, toast, and the newspaper. What a little old lady. She was reading an article about a floating bridge and local efforts to fix it. She loves floating bridges. Well, that particular floating bridge, anyhow.

How I Spent An Hour

Last week I noticed some eggs under the hose hanger in the backyard and thought I should take some pictures of them before they hatched, because I could tell they were ladybug eggs. Usually I am joined at the hip with my camera, but for some reason I kept forgetting it (I got sidetracked by some new artichoke plants and having to dig a bigger bed for them, then I had to go find some hay to mulch them, and so on). Then yesterday, while starting to unwind the hose, I noticed that the little yellow egg cluster had turned white - clear even. They'd hatched!

I felt mildly irritated that I'd missed a perfect David Attenborough-style moment. There is something so irresistible about acting like a total idiot while pretending to be David Attenborough - he always speaks sotto voce and always acts as though he is conducting a serious biology lecture whilst en plein air, so to speak. I have one very funny video I made ages ago, pretending to be David Attenborough and creeping up on Dominic, who was standing by himself in a meadow when he was three. He'd retreated there in a terrible sulk for some reason, and to give myself some amusement about what a sulky creature I'd given birth to I was pretending I was stalking a rare creature known as The Elusive Momo, a grouchy animal who only came out in the late afternoon and had a keen sense of smell, all sorts of rubbishy nonsense, but the funniest thing of all was that somehow Dominic knew I was doing this, even though I was clear across the field at the time - even though he had his hands over his eyes the whole time. I zig zagged around the trees, pretending I was getting extremely rare and valuable footage, whispering into the camera and trying to stay behind him so he wouldn't see me. He remained still as a statue the entire time, and right when I came up behind him he moved his hands, opened his eyes, and laughed into the camera as if we'd rehearsed it. No one who's seen it believes me when I say that I didn't coach him first.

Hmm. Lost my train of thought. Oh yes, David Attenborough and ladybug eggs. A natural combination.

So they'd hatched. I'd missed my moment. I stared at the eggs, then peered at the hose hanger, wondering where they'd gone, when suddenly some teeny tiny little black specks crawled past my eyes. Lots of teeny tiny little black specks. And they were all crawling all over the hose I was about to unwind. I froze, horrified in case I'd inadvertently squished any, then did the only sensible thing I could think to do: I carefully took each one and transferred it to the adjacent lilac bush, all the while wishing I had my David Attenborough camera. Alas, all I was able to get was a hastily snapped shot of them scrambling around on the leaves, no doubt wondering why that winding green carpet had suddenly stopped smelling of plastic.

One Small Square

It's hard to see this picture very clearly, I agree, but I'll describe it to you, if you like.

This was one of the things we did for the local Science (and other stuff) Celebration, organized by some friends of ours. It was inspired by the One Small Square books, which we happened upon last year and were quite taken with. (I'm giving the amazon.ca link for this book because the Canadian link shows the cover of the book) When we were discussing what we might do as our science entry, I suggested this, and initially Max (the Skeptic) said "That's not very interesting, I mean, just how much can one little area in your garden change in a month?" Now that remark, I feel compelled to point out to those of you who do not know the obsessed to the point of zealotry gardener that I am, was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. How much can the garden change? Hello? Have you not been watching me obsess over the plants for the past, uh, 11 years of your life? I felt like saying, but being the relatively mature adult that I am supposed to be am, I repressed it and instead used that old chestnut: "Why don't we try it and find out?"

And so we did.

Here's the first post I wrote about our initial attempts.

We took pictures of the garden from where I thought I'd taken the last one the exact same position each week.

We shooed Toffee out of the square.

We drew pictures of the plants and went to our botany books to identify them.

We shooed Toffee out of the square.

We sat quietly and watched the various birds come and go in our small square. Max made notes of what we saw, being the keen birder that he is.

We shooed Toffee out of the square.

Mostly we enjoyed watching the garden change over the six weeks or so that this project took. I found it so therapeutic that whenever I felt the vague rumbles of Grouchy Mum, or the mutinous mutterings of the Greenridge Enfants Terribles, I'd shout "Let's go check the small square!" and we'd all race outside, excited and delighted for the most part. And even if the kids we weren't so excited and delighted with the change of venue, by the time the kids we had been outside for twenty minutes they we were more often than not infused with enough fresh oxygen to cheer them us up until it was feeding time at the zoo lunch time.

And then it was time to put it all together into a Presentation. We took a colour photocopy of the book cover, altered it slightly, and then mounted the photos and made detailed sections of what the kids had seen. Max did the bird drawings, FDPG did the insect drawings, and Dominic did the Silly Comments (which sustained us in the wee hours). We included a photo of Toffee sitting in the square, seeing as how he'd done so much of it (and convulsed the kids each and every time he'd done so). And when they'd finally finished it, they were quite thrilled with themselves.

And lo and behold but only yesterday Max said to me, apropos of nothing "Wow, it's amazing how much the garden has changed in just a few weeks, isn't it?"

I tell you, it warmed the cockles of my heart to hear that. Sometimes these things are worth the effort.

Poetry Friday

Yesterday started out rather overcast - not gloomy, I hasten to add - and as such was a perfect day for taking pictures. Perfect. Overcast skies don't do much for basking and lolling in the garden, but they do wonders for making photos look lush. So here, as my PF offering, is a Greenridge Garden Tour, with a short poem by Karla Kuskin to start us off. I chose this poem because it rollicks along with all the joy and excitement and bounce I feel when I see my garden come back to life again after the winter. I too want to swing and shout and sing (I also like to see those black Mason bees represented in poetry). This poem made my kids laugh out loud. It made me laugh out loud. It made me want to repeat it over and over again, which is exactly what great kids' poetry ought to do.

Wander and enjoy the tour...




Spring
Karla Kuskin

I'm shouting
I'm singing
I'm swinging through trees
I'm winging sky-high
With the buzzing black bees.
I'm the sun
I'm the moon
I'm the dew on the rose.
I'm a rabbit
Whose habit
Is twitching his nose.
I'm lively
I'm lovely
I'm kicking my heels.
I'm crying "Come dance"
To the freshwater eels.
I'm racing through meadows
Without any coat
I'm a gamboling lamb
I'm a light leaping goat
I'm a bud
I'm a bloom
I'm a dove on the wing.
I'm running on rooftops
And welcoming spring!

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Becky at Becky's Book Reviews. Stop by and see some of the other poems on offer around town. Thanks for hosting Becky!